Victory's Thrill
by LEJ1
Summary: AU, ongoing. Captain Taylor of the HMS Victory stumbles upon an enemy ship carrying French nobleman Duke Devlin, whose presence is mysterious and intriguing to Taylor. With Devlin's true nature shrouded in secrecy, Taylor must be wary of possible mutiny.
1. Chapter 1

**Title**: Victory's Thrill  
**Author**: Leah Jenner  
**Fandom**: Yu-Gi-Oh  
**Rating**: PG for now, but probably will go up in later chapters. I'll switch the rating if that happens.  
**Included characters**: Tristan, Duke, and Joey in this chapter.  
**Disclaimer**: I so don't own Yu-Gi-Oh, or the boys. I swear.  
**Notes**: Very, very obviously AU of the Napoleonic Wars kind. Don't read if it's not your thing. This all was inspired by a MSN roleplay done with bardicsidhe :3

- - - - - - - -

Tristan Taylor, captain of His Majesty's Ship _Victory_, hated still winds.

Of course, still winds meant the enemy, the French navy, could not advance further, which was, of course, pleasing. But it also meant that he himself could not advance without rowing, which he loathed. He was a man of action.

He'd just been appointed as captain of a military frigate and given his first mission as captain, to seek out an enemy battleship, the _Éternité_, patrolling in the waters south of France. It was the year 1796, and war raged in the Atlantic.

The day was young, half past eleven in the morning and thankfully, the winds had just began picking up again from a period of no activity. The crew was in good spirits, and completely prepared to begin seeking out the _Éternité_.

But before the sails could even be raised, a ship came into view near _Victory_. Oh, Taylor knew it wasn't the _Éternité _– The ship he saw now was slow, sluggish, whereas the ship he was after would be lightening fast. This ship seemed to move as if it _wanted_ to be found.

Taylor stood now on the quarter deck, clad in his dark blue naval uniform beside his lieutenants, all in similar garb. His quickly brushed brunet hair was half-hidden underneath his wide tricorn hat that all officers wore.

"Beat to quarters!" Captain Taylor shouted. The command was echoed by others throughout the ship, until all crew members had prepared themselves for battle, standing ready at the cannons. Taylor leaned his hands against the railing on the deck, looking out toward the ship, eyes squinting so that he could read the name printed on the ship: _Illyria. _A French flag was flapping in the breeze, hung on one of the masts on the enemy ship. Taylor could see no movement on board, no one above deck.

"Fire a warning shot!" he ordered, as was the custom. He wondered if the ship might be deserted, but he didn't want to let his guard down and take that chance.

A cannon was fired, its shot striking the water hard on the larboard side of the ship. The crew waited in silence, watching for any signs of movement, any signs of life.

Nothing came. Still suspicious, Taylor ordered a shot to be fired into the ship itself. A loaded cannon was fired, striking the hull just at the waterline. The wood cracked loudly under the force of the strike, shards flying from the ship into the water.

With the continued silence that followed, Taylor opted to move _Victory_ alongside _Illyria_. As the ship was being positioned alongside the other, the captain issued further orders. "I want twenty armed men to search every last inch of the ship. If anyone's inside, bring them aboard – The _Illyria_'s taking on water."

The first lieutenant was sent aboard, along with a crew of twenty, pistols cocked, free hands on their hilted swords in their holsters. They found no one above deck. The captain watched from a distance as the men disappeared below deck, and he waited some time before they would all emerge again.

Oh, there _had_ been people inside - Taylor observed as prisoners were being led out onto the main deck - but no one whom Taylor had expected to find on a ship of war. Women were ushered onto _Victory_, perhaps thirty, Taylor thought as he tried to count each of them as they boarded the ship. Only a few men were brought on last, crew members, the captain assumed.

"Lookit this one 'ere," a sailor said to another beside him as he pulled one of the male prisoners on board _Victory_. The man they pulled inside was most assuredly the leader, the captain of the other boat, though he wasn't dressed at all like a naval officer.

This man had long, ebony hair pulled back in a loose ponytail at the nape of his neck, and he was dressed well, much too well for a man in the navy. He wore jet black trousers, synched at the knee, and equally dark stockings. His shirt was crimson silk, ruffled at the neck, and the overcoat he wore was black, its gold buttons shining in the pale morning light. Eyes were green like emeralds, pupils small like pinpricks. He, most assuredly, was a noble.

"'E's nothing but a right fop, 'e is!" the other seaman replied to the first. "An' a frog at that. D'you think cap'in'll let us sell those pretty clothes ta buy some rum, what say you?"

"You will do _nothing_ of the sort!" the man in their arms growled, his English thick with a French accent. He pushed away from them with firm shoves. But immediately after he managed to get away from them, another man took hold of the prisoner's arm, an officer this time. He was blond-haired, strong; his hold on the prisoner was unyielding.

"Who are _you_?" the prisoner demanded, trying unsuccessfully to pull free. "Let me speak to the captain."

"First Lieutenant Joseph Wheeler," the blond replied. "The captain's aft on the quarter deck. Come along so we can get everyone on board before your ship sinks and _then_ you can talk to the captain."

That seemed to settle the other man, at least for a moment. He waited until all the crew of his ship, and the ladies, had boarded before starting up his demands again. "_Let_ me speak to the captain."

Lieutenant Wheeler shouted up to the quarter deck, where Taylor had reclaimed his post. "Captain? What should we do with these here?"

"Wait!" the dark-haired prisoner in Wheeler's arms shouted. "Do you have any idea of who I am? I'm Duke Devlin, and --"

But Captain Taylor, uninterested in what the French prisoners had to say, interrupted him with orders for his men. "Secure the women below—absolutely _no one_ is allowed inside without my jurisdiction. Post a guard outside the door." It was clear that his own crew were disappointed with that command. "Take the _Illyria_'s men below—clap them in irons if they cause trouble."

"You can't possibly expect me to stay with the rest of my men!" Devlin replied hotly. "You're barbaric! I am an _officer_!"

"You'll stay with all the rest," Taylor replied, not at all phased by the enemy's words. "Away with them, if you please, Mr. Wheeler."

Wheeler grabbed hold of the Frenchman's upper arms, and gave him a firm push toward the creaky stairway that led below decks. But Devlin again persisted, wrenching out of the lieutenant's grip and turning back to Captain Taylor. The three midshipmen assisting the lieutenant all immediately raised their pistols, cocked them, and pointed them toward Devlin to assure he would move no further.

"You'll give me my own room, by God, or I'll bite my tongue and bleed to death," he threatened lowly, his emerald eyes fierce as he glared up at the captain.

Taylor's own eyes narrowed, and he replied calmly, but firmly, "You are in no position to be making demands. You are a prisoner of war. Down below, if you _please_, Mr. Wheeler."

But before the blond could move, Devlin raised his right hand, showing all around the gold ring on his finger. It was encrusted with tiny rubies encircling an emblem in the center, a golden eagle, wings outspread in a gesture of aggression—Napoleon Bonaparte's emblem. "I am protected by my cousin, Bonaparte himself. Raise one hand on me and all of the French forces will advance to your king. I would think twice about how you treat me, captain."

A significant, uncomfortable pause filled the air, and all around became nervous, though the officers didn't let that emotion show. Wheeler stepped forward and took hold of Devlin's wrist firmly to take a closer look at the ring. He was skeptical, until he took a good look at the design on the ring. After a few hushed seconds, he raised his head to look up at Taylor. "That's… that's the real thing, Captain. There's no mistaking it."

Devlin's lips curved into a smirk, an air of smug grace surrounding his form. He'd been nervous before, himself, but his plan seemed to have worked. These English dogs were just as stupid and naïve as he'd been told.

Taylor, on the other hand, did not think out all the situation's possibilities or consequences at present. Instead, he acted, acted on instinct to prevent nervousness from spreading further to the crew. "Mr. Wheeler, take this man to my quarters and wait for me there."

"Aye, sir," the blond answered, lifting his hand to tip his hat in a salute. He took Devlin's arm and led him below, beneath the quarter deck to the captain's room. This time, Devlin didn't resist.

The captain continued issuing orders. He knew that if his men were kept busy, that no further panic would arise. "Carry out my orders from earlier: Secure the women and _Illyria_'s crew beneath. Raise sails; head south by south-west, a quarter south. Stand ready to beat to quarters – a French frigate patrols the area there. Carry on."

The crew immediately went to work – the midshipman led _Illyria_'s passengers below deck to be held there, while the rest of the seamen first raised the main sail, then the topsails and the foresails. Taylor, however, took the stairs down from the quarter deck to the main deck, then downstairs to his own room. Everyone whom he passed saluted, as was the custom.

When he reached the hallway leading to his room, he caught a brief snatch of conversation between the lieutenant and Devlin. For a moment, he stood in the doorway once he reached his room, watching the other two converse, his presence unnoticed by them at first.

"Ooh, who's this lovely catch?" Devlin purred, picking up a framed image on Taylor's desk. It was a portrait of a woman, very stunning, with long brunette hair, large cheerful eyes, and an innocent smile.

"My sister, that's who," Wheeler replied, his guard down now. He was able to talk more freely now that he thought he was alone with the prisoner. "An' the captain's wife – Serenity Taylor."

The dark-haired man laughed, setting down the portrait again and looking over at the blond. "_Your_ sister? You must be joking. How could such a beauty be related to a scruffy dog like _you_?"

Wheeler growled, and was about to snap right back with an insult, but the captain entered then, and he immediately bit back his comment, and instead saluted to Taylor.

Devlin, on the other hand, simply rested his palms on his hips, a rather disrespectful gesture. But he knew he could get away with it. When the brunette closed the door after he entered, Devlin spoke up at last. "So where are we going?"

The captain strode into the room, and over to his desk, sitting down behind it with a sigh. "Not that my plans are any of your business, but we are currently in pursuit of a French frigate. My mission was to capture _that_ ship – yours was an unexpected find. Afterward, we leave for England. You'll be held as a prisoner of war until we can make contact with your leaders to figure out what to do with you. And considering the nature of your country, I find that situation very unlikely to be played out successfully."

"So what are you going to do, then?" the raven-haired man asked. "Hold me in England forever? What crime have I committed?"

"You'll be given back to your people after the war. They'll do to you whatever they want," the captain replied. "You're none of England's business, nor have you raised a hand against the king's navy. Yet."

Devlin threw his head back, and couldn't help but laugh, those green eyes of his squeezing shut for a moment in amusement. "What do you think I'm going to do – start a battle on board your ship with my women? You're insane."

Taylor continued, not taking heed of any of Devlin's words, "Until we reach England, you'll stay in here. A guard will be posted at the door at all times. You won't be allowed to leave the room. The men do not take kindly to the French, and if you so much as try to interact with the others, I can't guarantee your safety."

"You are all mad," the Frenchman replied, crossing his arms, mildly irritated that the captain wasn't completely paying attention to him. But he knew how to change that. Taylor seemed to pay attention when he issued commands – Taylor couldn't have that, after all. It was undermining his authority. "_Fine_. I'll stay right here in your cabin. But I demand to see some of my girls from time to time. And I demand the best vittles. And you'll bring me cards, I think, and the best wine you have. Treat me well or all of France will be after you, captain."

The seated man sighed again, and rolled his eyes heavenward. He'd never, ever dealt with a prisoner so damned demanding that he couldn't clap in irons and lock away somewhere where he didn't have to listen to the banter.

Captain Taylor knew Devlin could be lying. He had no idea as to the names on Bonaparte's extended family tree, and he was quite certain that none of his crew knew either. Either he was telling the truth… or he was making an elaborate scheme of lies to soften his passage to the guillotine. Either way, once they reached the English port, Taylor would never have to see Devlin again. He looked forward to that day immensely.

Lieutenant Wheeler, on the contrary, was all for sending this guy below decks, no matter _who_ he was. He didn't like Devlin's attitude, and worse, he had insulted him in front of the captain. "I say we don't believe a word this frog says," Wheeler replied. His voice remained informal, which surprised Devlin – but then again, he assumed the lieutenant and the captain were more than coworkers. A friendship was there, and obviously a strong one.

"If I knew that doing so wouldn't worsen England's chances of winning the war, by all means…" Taylor replied, rubbing his brow to ease some of the tension there. "But right now… I'm willing to do anything to keep him quiet." He raised his hand, and waved Devlin toward the chair at the opposite side of his desk, a dark-colored wooden chair with a royal blue cushion. "Sit."

The raven-haired man didn't hesitate to sink quickly down in the chair, casually, as if the piece of furniture belonged to him in the first place. "I won't keep quiet until I get what I what."

"What you'll get is the guillotine if you don't keep quiet," Taylor replied, not really meaning those words. He reached in one of his desk drawers and pulled out an old deck of playing cards, the numbers on each card fading a little from age. He set the cards down in front of Devlin, then stood up, circling the desk to stand by Wheeler.

"I need you up on the quarter deck," Taylor told Wheeler, squeezing the blond's shoulder reassuringly. "The battle won't be easy – the frigate is a fully-armed vessel, crew of three hundred. I need you to look out for yourself, all right?"

"Yeah… you, too, Tristan," Wheeler replied, but then caught himself. "Er, Captain." He reached over to take hold of Taylor's opposite shoulder and returned the gesture.

Devlin had turned his head to watch this little exchange, and was currently rolling his eyes. "How sweet." He turned his head back to the cards, shuffling them idly. He was _good_ with cards. There wasn't a game he couldn't win. However… he knew the backs of the cards as well as the fronts, usually.

Upon hearing Devlin's comment, Wheeler lowered his arm and glared at the back of the dark-haired man's head. He was half-tempted to give that sarcastic fop a good whack – and it would be so _easy_ now. But… out of respect for his friend's orders, he refrained from doing so. But it took quite a bit of effort. "The captain said for you to quiet down, Devlin."

"That he did," Devlin replied, not looking back, and dealing his cards out for a game of solitaire. Ah, it was boring to play alone, he decided. He'd demand to be allowed to play with someone else later. "But when has anything your captain said had any effect on me?"

Before further argument could break out, Taylor gently took hold of Wheeler's arm and guided him to leave. The blond had his orders, and without another word, he returned to the quarter deck to take his post with the other lesser-ranked lieutenants.

After the other left, Devlin spoke up again. "You two sure seem close."

"We've been friends 'since we were boys, if it's any of your concern," Taylor replied, crossing over to a map that had been nailed up on the wall. From there, he looked over their current course, and determined how long, based on the speed of the wind, that it would take for _Victory_ to reach the enemy ship: roughly four hours.

"It's not," Devlin replied as he finished laying out his cards, and then began to play. "Does the crew know what you're _really_ like? Why, I hear you haven't seen land in over eight months. I'll bet you don't even mind not seeing women. You certainly didn't seem impressed with the lot I brought aboard…"

"They are prisoners of war, and they are French. I've no interest in any of them," the other replied. "And as you noticed, I am married."

"Ah, but you haven't seen her in such a long time… Do you even really miss her that much?" Devlin inquired, amused. "I don't think you do…"

Taylor chuckled lightly. "You play a dangerous game, Devlin. I think _you _are the one that is insane."

"And I hear you have a _marvelous_ singing voice…" Devlin continued, smirking, not listening to Taylor's words. "Not a very gruff hobby if you ask me…"

"And you heard all of this _where_?" Taylor asked, crossing his arms, and turning to walk over to Devlin's side.

Devlin replied, setting the ace of hearts down above the rest of his cards, "I am always at the center of social functions in Paris. We are quite fond of quirky facts in my circles."

"Quite fond of falsities and petty amusements," the other corrected, tilting his head down to watch the other play. "It doesn't surprised me. No wonder the people in France rose up against the nobility. If they're all like _you_, that is…"

"Maybe I'll tell you all about it later," Devlin suggested, still smirking. "When we become better acquainted."

"'Better acquainted?' You are mad," Taylor replied, then finally walked back over to the door. "I'm placing a guard outside the door after I leave. Don't try to leave, and don't rummage through my belongings. In several hours, I want you to get down, under the desk. We are at war, as you _may_ have noticed, and we are approaching a frigate. It won't be an easy battle."

Devlin waved him off after setting down another ace, seemingly unaffected by the prospect of violence.

Taylor turned, then, and left the room without another word. He posted a guard outside the door, a midshipman, as he'd planned, then returned to the quarter deck to discuss strategy with the lieutenants.


	2. Chapter 2

**Title**: Victory's Thrill (chapter 2)  
**Author**: Leah Jenner  
**Fandom**: Yu-Gi-Oh  
**Rating**: PG for now, but probably will go up in later chapters. I'll switch the rating if that happens.  
**Included characters**: Duke and Yuugi  
**Disclaimer**: I don't own Yu-Gi-Oh, I swear.  
**Notes**: Very, very obviously AU of the Napoleonic Wars kind. Don't read if it's not your thing. This all was inspired by a MSN roleplay done with bardicsidhe :3

- - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Devlin remained in the captain's cabin after Taylor had gone. The cabin itself was the best room that could be offered in the ship. It was private, first of all, unlike the large, open spaces beneath the decks where the rest of the seamen slept, all one hundred and fifty of them, sleeping in their hammocks side by side. The midshipmen had one room that they all shared, as did two lieutenants, but the captain was the only man who slept in privacy and solitude.

Until now, that is.

Oh, Devlin planned on stretching his control over the captain as much as possible. The room was well enough for he himself to stay in, he decided. The four walls were pale yellow, decorated by ornate navy blue flowering designs. Taylor's desk was a deep mahogany, built well, with an embossed leather top which made it all the more sturdy. The top of the desk was littered with various items, including a map of the Atlantic, a compass, and the ship's inventory logs. The captain's chair on the other side of the desk was identical to the one Devlin was seated in.

The captain's hammock was hung by the ceiling against the wall, a pale tan pillow and blanket thrown on top of it, both having the initials 'T. T.' stitched into them with blue thread.

A dresser and a bookcase made from the same mahogany as the desk were situated against the opposite wall. Each shelf was like a cabinet, having doors that needed to be opened in order to see the contents inside. It had to be this way, otherwise the tilts of the ship would have all of the captain's belongings strewn out over the floor. Various charts and maps were nailed up on the wall.

Devlin turned back to his cards, and continued his work on his game of Solitaire, a smirk spreading across his face at his predicament. French nobleman? If that's all the captain thought Devlin was, he was highly mistaken. The Frenchman, in actuality, was a captain of his own frigate, and had been ordered by his French admiral to engage in a charade to infiltrate England's _Victory_ as a spy. Oh, Devlin knew the risk was high for this sort of mission – After all, the penalty for spying in England was death. The punishment couldn't be any less, for if spies were to get away with the information they had discovered, the results could be disastrous for the English navy.

But the plan was perfect. He was posed as a civilian, a noble who had simply been trying to get passage across the sea. His ship had been occupied not of his full crew of men, but of other civilians, women, mostly. If the English had continued firing knowingly on a civilian ship, the consequences would have been substantial. It would have been an unforgivable offense.

As it was, however, the scheme had now been put into motion. The captain was dense enough, trusting enough, to believe everything that he had said. Devlin had positioned that civilian ship directly in the path of Taylor's, for he had received word earlier from France that Taylor was a newly appointed captain. A novice, and an inexperienced one at that. True, Taylor needed work on his leadership skills, but he was an excellent fighter. He knew what his goals were and he ran for them without heeding the possibilities of failure. Taylor had been a successful lieutenant by just following orders, but now that he was the one giving instructions, his true personality and style of leading had yet to be shown through completely.

Devlin, on the other hand, was a master strategist and captain of his own ship, which was waiting for him back in France. This mission of his would last until _Victory_ reached England, wherein he would escape from Taylor's hold of him and rendezvous with a French band of sharpshooters waiting for him on the coast to take him back to France. It was almost too easy…

Almost. After all, he _did_ have work to do while he was onboard _Victory_. The captain, somewhere in this room, had hidden secret documents as to the location of all of England's frigates, the layout and number of men aboard each ship, and how many guns each frigate boasted. If Devlin could get his hands on this information, the English would be sitting ducks, just waiting unknowingly to be attacked. French battleships could move from one English ship to the next, until they had completely swept the Atlantic free of them. This would, naturally, mean France's victory in the naval war.

And it would also mean a promotion for Devlin. He pondered what sort of reward he would be given. Surely a position as admiral, and a monetary reward of some sort. He couldn't wait until he found those documents. And because Taylor would be out of his cabin for so long, for hours today, Devlin could begin his search presently.

After winning his game of Solitaire, the Frenchman left his cards on top of the desk and instead circled around to observe the other side of that desk. Across the frieze were three drawers, the drawer in the center larger than the two on either side of it. Each had a bronze handle, ornamental, the metal curved and curling into an elaborate twist. And each drawer had a key hole.

Devlin, at once, tried each of the drawers, starting with the leftmost. It was locked shut. He tried the center drawer, then the one on the right, but he found the same resistance there. They were all locked.

He sighed, and cursed inwardly. He knew he had to find the key, but he assumed the captain either had it on his being, or had hidden it somewhere else in his room. If Taylor did have it with him, Devlin would have to wait to look for it later. However, for the time being, he decided he could look around the rest of the room to see if he could find anything else that could be useful to him. He circled around the desk again.

When he reached the other side, the door creaked open, and a midshipman that had been posted outside his door peaked his head inside to relay a quick message. "Lieutenant Wheeler just came to tell me that the captain wants me to check on you from time to time, and to make sure you're not getting in any trouble."

Devlin rolled his eyes. "Naturally." But then he thought better of it, and calmed his attitude again. He had to make the officers trust him. He wasn't concerned with the seamen – they could think what they wanted, and probably would, but the trust of the midshipman, the lieutenants, and of course the captain, was what was important to Devlin. "Well, you may as well come in, then. Do you play cards? I'm devilishly bored."

"Me?" the midshipman replied, looking rather taken aback. "But I haven't been given permission to enter the captain's cabin. And when we reach the _Éternité, _I've got to return to my post on deck. One of the seamen will take my place here."

"Well, if the captain complains about your actions, tell him I forced you to play," Devlin replied with a wave of his hand. "Come here, will you?"

The midshipman, a little shyly, finally agreed to the offer, closing the door behind him. He was small, young for a midshipman. Devlin guessed that he was perhaps thirteen, and his hair, partially hidden beneath his hat, was discolored, as if by chemical pollution, or by some accident. Devlin didn't inquire about it, and instead waved his hand to offer the captain's chair to the boy, then sat down again across from him. "Your name?"

The other replied as he took his seat, "Midshipman Yuugi Mutou, of His Britannic Majesty's – "

"Oh, don't bother with the titles," Devlin interrupted. "'Mutou' would have been enough. What do you play, Mutou?"

"Mm…" the younger boy had to think for a moment. "Faro's well and fun. I never play with money, though."

"Ah, Faro. That's forbidden in France," Devlin replied with a helpless shrug. "I don't know the game, I'm afraid. You English are far more loose on gambling laws."

The other's gaze suddenly turned concerned. "But we don't gamble on the ship! Definitely not. Just with chips, see?" He reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of colorful playing chips.

Devlin knew why the boy had become so defensive – the penalty for gambling in the navy was flogging. "I know you're not gambling. But people in France did, and it caused too much trouble, so the game was banned. Do you know any other games?"

Relaxing a bit now, Mutou pocketed his chips again, and then considered what other games he knew how to play. He tried to think of a game that the Frenchman might be familiar with. "How about… Piquet?"

"Ah, Piquet… Fine game," Devlin replied as he picked up each of the four stacks of cards left over from his Solitaire game, and removed all numbered cards below seven, except the aces, and set them aside. This was an easy task because the cards were already placed in order from his previous game. When the deuces, treys, fours, fives, and sixes were all set aside, he gathered up the remaining cards and shuffled them out, then dealt the cards. "Tell me about the captain," he requested, making what seemed to Mutou like polite small talk. But to Devlin, this information might be able to help him later in his mission.

"The captain?" Mutou asked, examining his cards. "What about him?"

"How old is he? How long have he and his wife been together? What sorts of things does he like to do in his free time?" Devlin rephrased for the young boy.

"How old?" Mutou repeated. "I should think… twenty five? Something like that. About your age, it looks like. I can't remember exactly. His wife? Oh, the captain hasn't spent much time with her at all after they were married. You see, he knew he was going to be sent away on duty, so he quickly married her the day he was going to be sent away at sea. That's what Lieutenant Wheeler said one day. The kinds of things he likes? …I don't know. I don't see the captain much except on duty, but I've heard from the lieutenants that he likes to fix things. He was supposedly really good at being a regular seaman, doing the lowly work, you know? And he likes music. I don't think he's much for parties and things like you are, though. Nobles really like parties, don't they?"

"Quite," Devlin replied automatically, studying his own cards. "So what did Wheeler think about Taylor marrying his sister so quickly?"

"I think he was a little against the speed of it all, but he said if they're in love, then they should go ahead with it," Mutou replied with a smile. "I don't think the captain's the sort to be cruel to a lady, anyway."

"Has he ever been married to anyone before Mrs. Taylor?"

"Mm… no," Mutou replied, discarding one of his cards, as was the requirement of the game.

"Would you call your captain a man of good morals?" Devlin asked, discarding one of his own cards.

"Oh, yes, most definitely," the other replied, still smiling. "He's a really good man. He's kind to everyone, unless he has reason not to, of course, and he's never been cruel to any of the men unless they did something wrong on the ship. He's very fair."

As Devlin observed the boy in front of him, he could clearly come to the conclusion that Mutou was able to see the good in just about anyone. After all, he was sitting playing cards with a 'frog.' He can't be a bad boy, Devlin decided. "Did he get to see Mrs. Taylor much the day they were married?"

"No, I don't think so," Mutou replied. "He had to leave to come to the ship right after."

Devlin smirked inwardly. Well, it seemed as if Taylor had never been with a woman. He might be able to use that against the other man later. But for now, Devlin continued to ask questions. However, he veered from the captain, not wanting to seem suspicious. "What about you? Your name… seems rather foreign. Where are you from? Your English doesn't sound any different than the rest of the men here, though…"

"My name?" Mutou asked. "Oh, my great-grandfather was from the east, in Japan. He married a woman in England, and there's been nothing but English blood that's entered my family after that. But… I guess my family has a tradition of naming children names that are from the area where the family originally came from. I don't get it, really… I was teased dreadfully as a seaman… But the captain received word for my promotion the day _he_ became captain. So I'm not teased about it so much anymore."

"Because your bastard underlings could get flogged for disrespect to an officer," Devlin replied knowingly. Turning his attention back toward the game, Devlin asked, "What do you have?"

But before the two could speak another word, cannon fire was heard - the French frigate must have been closer than the captain had expected. After a quick look at Devlin, Mutou stood after dropping his cards, and he abruptly hurried out of the cabin to prepare for battle.


	3. Chapter 3

**Title**: Victory's Thrill (chapter 3)  
**Author**: Leah Jenner  
**Fandom**: Yu-Gi-Oh  
**Rating**: PG for now, but probably will go up in later chapters. I'll switch the rating if that happens.  
**Disclaimer**: I don't own Yu-Gi-Oh, I swear.  
**Notes**: Very, very obviously AU of the Napoleonic Wars kind. And eventual chaseshipping. Doon't read if it's not your thing. This all was inspired by a MSN roleplay done with bardicsidhe :3

Thanks for the reviews, guys I really appreciate it. :3

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By the time young Mutou reached the main deck, the crew had already begun to beat to quarters. Gunmen hurried down the stairs to ready their own cannons, the young seamen scurrying to bring more gunpowder to the gunmen. 

Mutou turned around to see if he could spot the frigate that had apparently fired shots. He located it out about a half a mile on the starboard side of the ship, and he didn't need a looking glass to see the French flag swooshing in the breeze on one of the ship's masts. Without another word, Mutou hurried below decks to command his squad of seamen.

But above decks, the remainder of the officers stood directing orders and formulating a strategy. The guns that had been fired before were just from two lone cannons at the front of the ship; the cannons on the side of the frigate were not in range to hit _Victory_.

"She's not the ship we're looking for, captain," Wheeler informed Taylor, looking through the spyglass as he stood near the wheel. "But… it looks like she has forty-eight guns, sir."

Taylor, standing beside his companion and hands crossed behind his back, nodded approvingly, and answered, "She may out-gun us, but the wind is on our side." And sure enough, that was true; the wind was strong, blowing north, in the direction the ship was headed. The French frigate, stern facing _Victory_, was no more than a sitting duck if she didn't turn and run now.

_Victory_ was in truth the smaller frigate, thirteen cannons and two swivel guns on each side. Thirty marines, in their signature red uniforms, were aboard _Victory_, and would aid the attack with musket fire when the other ship's crewmembers were in range. The leader of the marines was Major Kaiba, a rather stern, serious man who was fully content on sticking to business only. One wouldn't call him pleasant company, but in battle, his leadership of the marines was second to none. They stood, muskets ready, along the edges of the boat, ready for the upcoming battle.

But sure enough, as Taylor had expected, this new French frigate turned then, changing its course to flee in the opposite direction. Now that the ship was turned, Wheeler, still gazing through the spyglass, could see the name of the frigate: _Elysium_. "She's running, sir!" the blond informed the captain, though Taylor, of course, could easily see that without the glass. The lieutenant looked away from the ship, and instead turned to the captain, waiting for orders.

"Raise all sails," Taylor replied evenly, not taking his eyes off the ship in the distance. "We'll catch her – Victory is the faster ship." That was true as well. Even from here, the captain could see the bulkiness of the enemy frigate.

"Aye, sir," Wheeler answered, then turned to shout to all the seamen on board. "Raise all sails!"

The midshipmen in turn, shouted to each of their squads, "Raise all sails, men! We're heading for that frigate!"

It didn't take long for the _Victory_ to catch up. She was a light and quick frigate, a fine ship of the line. Orders were shouted once the boats were alongside each other for the cannon fire to begin. Each midshipman below deck yelled the fierce order to their squads: "**FIRE**!"

_Victory_'s cannons sounded loud in the seamen's ears, and all but two shots hit the _Elysium_ directly, one in her main mast, four on the main deck, hitting unfortunate sailors, and the remaining six hit the broadside of the ship, above the waterline. The marines, led by Major Kaiba, aided the attack with the swivel guns and musket fire, their sharp-shooting ability making them able to strike seamen above deck on the enemy ship.

However, _Elysium_ did not simply lay in wait, accepting the attack. She countered with cannon fire of her own, several shots striking into Victory's broadside, and one striking two marines on the main deck. But the crew of the enemy ship was panicked, moving too hastily and too carelessly, so few shots made contact with anything substantial. Their greatest feat was a strike to the base of _Victory_'s main mast, nearly crippling it; if the blast had been any more powerful, the mast would have fallen in a broken heap onto the deck.

Within minutes, _Victory_'s swiftness in battle had overpowered the French frigate, and it was safe for a crew of men, along with Captain Taylor and Lieutenant Wheeler, to board the ship to obtain a surrender from the ship's captain and to detain the prisoners of war. Pistols cocked and swords unsheathed, the British sailors crossed from one boat to the next via several wooden planks set out to join the two ships.

Most of the enemy sailors on deck were dead, several still wounded. Wordlessly, French soldiers carried the bodies of their wounded comrades to the infirmary below deck. Taylor walked the length of the ship, still cautious for any signs of further attack. But he found none, only the stench of defeat – blood, and gunpowder from inefficient cannons.

One of his own sailors spotted the body of _Elysium_'s captain, sprawled in a bloody, mangled heap near the stairs that lead below deck. It was clear that no life was left in the man. Taylor bent to take his sword, as was the custom for surrender: a captain giving his defeater his sword.

"Do a search of the ship," Taylor instructed his crewmembers. "Lock the prisoners below. Lower the French flag and raise our colors." After a quick salute, the men hustled off to obey.

After once again surveying the damage, the captain led his first lieutenant back to the enemy captain's empty cabin to search the other's desk for any useful information, and to give Wheeler his orders. Taylor sat at the French captain's desk and sifted through the papers in the drawers, none of which amounted to any significance.

"I want you to take command of this ship," he said to Wheeler, after giving up on his search of the desk. "_Victory_ will travel alongside to escort you into the first English port we come to. _Victory_'s main mast needs to be repaired, at any rate, and by time we reach the port, we'll need to pick up more provisions as well. I don't know how long we'll have this wind… But I suspect we'll reach the coast in several days if it holds."

The blond nodded, having remained silent until now, taking in all of the instructions. "What about those civilians? The ones we picked up earlier today?"

The captain sighed, and rubbed the back of his neck, brow furrowed a little as he considered the course of action. He wouldn't act so casual around any naval officer besides his first lieutenant. "We'll leave the women there to the local authority for further questioning… then they'll be sent back to France if nothing suspicious arises. After we land, they aren't our concern anymore."

"…what about the captain, then?" Wheeler asked, and grimaced a little as he remembered his earlier encounter with Devlin. "That noble Frenchie we picked up?"

Taylor paused, and looked to the ground, pondering for a moment before replying. "…I don't trust him. I want him aboard until we're able to return to bring him before the admiralty. But… we don't have time to keep stalling in England. If I hesitate any further, the consequences of losing the French frigate will be over my head. We have to keep him with us until we capture the _Éternité_."

"Good," the other boy replied, crossing his arms with an air of satisfaction. "'Glad I'm not the only one that doesn't trust that frog."

"But the crew must not know of our suspicion," Taylor added quickly in warning. "I don't want a scene to arise because of the Frenchman."

Wheeler nodded again, a silent promise not to say anything to the other officers about it. "…what d'you suppose he's up to all the way out here? He can't just be having a friendly boat ride out to sea during wartime."

The other shook his head, not knowing. He could only guess. "Maybe he was supposed to rendezvous with a French frigate to hand over supplies. I've no idea. But I hardly believe he's just a civilian." Taylor stood, then, and circled back around the desk. "We haven't the time to discuss this now. I must return to _Victory_. Set a course north by north west. I'll be right there beside you."

The lieutenant smiled, and saluted. "I'll see you in a few days, Tristan." At that, he took his leave, exiting the captain's chamber to go gather a crew to man the enemy ship to England.

Taylor, on the other hand, returned back to his own ship. No whistles sounded, as was the typical custom when a captain was boarding his own ship. There was no time for it, for the crewmen were still clearing away wreckage, sewing ripped sails, and rinsing their comrades' blood from the wooden planks underfoot.

Once both ships were prepared, they both set sail, a little slower than they might have had they been fully repaired. _Victory_, more of her sails up now, trailed slightly in front of the other ship, as if guiding it to the port. Captain Taylor had been correct in his estimation – Both ships arrived within three days at Plymouth Port.


End file.
